Die Höhle was almost two weeks ago! If I don't blog about it now I never will.
knew it was was going to be a night of techno, but I'd never heard of
any of the DJs playing. Out of the list of names, Vincent Vidal sounded
the most familiar, so I listened to him on Soundcloud for a bit before I went out. To be honest, I think I was thinking of Vidal Sassoon.
glad I met up with The Commenter (TC) the night before, otherwise I
would have felt really awkward turning up at her and her boyfriend's
flat for pre-drinks.
By the way, TC suggested that I
christen her boyfriend* with a secret blog name too, an initialed name
like TC... we decided on OJ (because it's close to his actual name, not
because he is particularly fond of orange juice). TC and OJ also had two
friends over from London who were coming to Die Höhle- Nat and Matt.
TC, OJ, Nat and Matt- it sounds like I went raving with a gang of cartoon alley cats.
I wish I WISH I had a gang of cartoon alley cats to go raving with. Imagine raving with this:
we drank, we played that game where everyone puts the names of five
celebrities in a hat, then you have to describe the people to your
teammates without saying their name. In the next round, you have to
describe the celebrity in just one word and finally you're not allowed
to use any words- you have to mime. TC and OJ have 'special' rounds of
their own invention, a particularly difficult one being the round where
you have to mime using just your hand. ( TC did a surprisingly accurate
impression of Joseph Fritzl during this round.)
rave didn't finish until noon the next day, so we weren't in any rush to
head out. We finally left at about 1.30am, just in time to get the last
metro. The secret location was right at the end of line 12, in the town
of Aubervilliers. (It has only recently been added to the line,
which freaked me out a bit because I get the Line 12 every day and it
has always terminated at Porte de la Chapelle. I thought that The
Universe had created a new rave venue just for us. Look at your metro map if you don't
While we walked round deserted
streets looking for the 'secret venue' (we only knew roughly where it
was) we discussed whether there would be a queue or not. As it was
getting on for 2am, we thought 'definitely not'. We couldn't have been
more wrong- when we finally found the venue we saw that there was a
really long queue, starting at the top of a steep hill and winding down
to a pair of huge, red doors.
At first the queue was
moving (albeit very slooowly) and there were a few bouncers milling
around. Then all of a sudden: the bouncers disappeared, people started
pushing in and the queue stopped moving.
A large crowd
gathered in front of the doors as newcomers and people from the back of
the queue pushed in at the front. Soon it was more a scrum that a queue.
Things could only get worse.
Eventually a bouncer
turned up and told everybody to reform the queue, or else they would
shut the doors. He did nothing to help the situation, he just stood
there watching. Everyone who had remained in the original queue like
good girls and boys got crushed against cars and motorbikes by the
pushers-in, who were now trying to squish back into the line.
won't bore you with anymore details of the Queue of Doom, all you need
to know is that we were in that shambles of a queue for almost TWO
Everybody had tickets! What were we queuing for?
promised, they shut the doors in our faces, slowly and ominously, like
the gates of Mordor. I couldn't imagine ever getting inside. I thought
the only beats I would be listening to would be those of fists against
the huge red doors as frustrated revelers decided enough was enough, we
came to rave, open the doors and let us in.
Not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin.
Everyone in the queue was grumbling, swearing that they would NEVER go to a Berlinons Paris event EVER AGAIN. Me and the Alley cats were telling ourselves that once we got into the rave, it would be so good that we would forget all about the Queue of Doom.
And then a miracle- the queue suddenly straightened itself out, the doors opened and the queue started moving again.
pointed out, when we were close to the front of the queue, that
sometimes the amount of pain you suffer correlates directly with the
amount of pleasure you are going to experience. In other words:
shit queue = sick rave
didn't quite believe him, but sure enough, we managed to get inside the
big, red doors, miracles of miracles. The vast entrance hall looked
like a converted stables or an outdoor restaurant you'd find on holiday,
with a cobbled floor and flowers painted on the wall.
'Don't tell me it's another wedding reception rave,' I thought, casting my mind back to Katapult at Seven Sisters.
had to queue AGAIN but this time it wasn't for very long. A bouncer
counted twelve of us and told us to follow him. A group had already
disappeared in front of us, down a long, dark passageway. Why was the
bouncer taking off in small groups? We wondered if perhaps we had booked
ourselves a historical tour by accident.
waiting, it was our turn. The bouncer told us to follow him. He led us
down a wide, stone passageway which was completely dark except for
flickering candles, places in alcoves along the wall. At one point we
heard the group that was ahead of us, unseen in the dark twists and
turns of the tunnel, cheer and scream.
Then we heard
it, techno techno techno, creeping along the passageway ever so quietly,
growing louder as we reached another pair of doors. The bouncer opened
the doors and we stepped inside, finally.
This has been
a very long post so I'll leave it there for now. I'll never forget when
I asked Clare if she'd read my latest blog post and she said "I started
it, but it was so long darling, I stopped reading."
it was you Clare, I can't remember. ANYWAY. Are my posts too long?
That's a genuine question, unless nobody answers, then I'll pretend it
was a rhetorical question...
*I keep calling him her
'boyfriend', but I was telling Kayt about TC's engagement ring- it's so
lovely, it has an opal in it- and she said, "So it's her fiance then, not her boyfriend?"
yes, it is her fiance, but it feels weird calling somebody's boyfriend
that, like he is a soldier in WWI or something and TC is waiting at
home, growing potatoes and knitting herself a wedding dress out of dried
milk curd. TC doesn't even call him her fiance- she mostly calls him by
his name, which I think is very sensible.